


Heartsick On The Open Sea

by GreyNarcissus



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Gang Rape, Manhandling, Multi, Multiple Penetration, Non-Consensual Groping, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24953197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyNarcissus/pseuds/GreyNarcissus
Summary: Jealous and outraged by Penelope's deception at her loom, the suitors finally take what they feel is theirs.Knowing what was to come, Poseidon delivers his ultimate revenge upon Odysseus.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Heartsick On The Open Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RobberBaroness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobberBaroness/gifts).



Had it been so long that Odysseus had forgotten what Ithica smelled like, the golden sunlight on his skin, walking up the path towards his home, his family. For so many years she had been his one shining light, his Penelope. He was older now, roughened by war and sea salt. But seeing her again, holding her in his arms would make it all worthwhile. 

He couldn’t count how many times he’d had this dream. Of making the walk from the docks to his palace. It was so often now it was like a second life he led at night, one where he saw his queen glowing in their bed.

The path up the hill was steep but not unmanageable. The chalky soil crunching beneath his sandals. One foot broke the surface and crunched him down to his knee. 

“ _No.”_

He wrenched his thigh up to shake off the sudden force on him. This wasn’t how it should be. Never had this been a nightmare. How could it be, his memories of Ithaca were so fresh and happy that nothing could bespoil them. His other foot sank to the ankle, wet sand where the stone path should be. He felt the crushing depths of the sea all around him as if he were still clinging to that branch while Charybdis raged beneath. 

Like a grasping fist from the depths, he was wrenched down beneath the surface of the earth as if it were water. He screamed, but wet sand filled his mouth and nose. Ithaca disappeared from his view.

Heavy hands replaced the crushing sand, one wrapped around his throat, the other gripping his wrists behind his back. 

“Poseidon,” he spat, struggling against the god’s vice-like grip, feeling the divine hatred choking him. 

“So close to home, King of Ithaca, and yet so far.”

No amount of struggling would break him free, no dream, no nightmare could replace this feeling. One of being in the presence of a malign force, that meant him harm.

“Poseidon, bitter seafoam, kill me if you must but pray make it quick, so I don’t have to suffer your acrid smell.”

An icy chill cut through him. 

“No honeyed words today? No lies?” 

Claws dug into his skin, the wet pain of drowning in his lungs. 

“No matter,” the god whispered against the mortal’s skin. Odysseus shuddered, it was like the cool touch of a lover. He hadn’t felt it since Circe’s- “Ah ah ah.” Poseidon’s claw drew across his throat softly. “You will not drift away so easily, human king. If you are desperate to recall a woman’s touch perhaps it is home you’d rather hold your precious queen?”

The water parted around them, sunlight cutting through the cascade-like knives. 

“I will not beg you, Poseidon,” Odysseus spat. 

“Do you think it would change anything if you did?”

Penelope was as lovely as the day they wed. Some lines of silver in her dark hair, creases around her bright-eyed, but no less striking. She sat at her loom, twisting her hands around wine deep threads. Did she often weave, he wondered. With her window overlooking the road to the palace. 

No. She wasn’t weaving. Penelope was picking at the yarn, a weak lamp guttering beside her. Faint fingers of sunlight crossed the horizon. Why should the Queen of Ithaca be sat at her loom at dawn unweaving her own work?

“Why indeed Ithican King,” Poseidon was smiling, his great hands still wrapped around the mortal’s taught frame. “You always praised how shrewd and clever your bride was. She had unwoven time itself to hasten your return. Every night she buys you more time to come home.”

It hurt his heart to see his wife bent over her loom, desperately working as if through her picking his ship might appear on the horizon with the dawnlight. 

“Why are you showing me this? I’m almost home, are you planning on blowing my ships adrift again?” 

There was that smile again, there was something Poseidon wasn’t telling him. 

“I cannot predict the future, Odysseus. I cannot tell you what will happen next. But not an hour ago did Penelope’s trusted servant tell her lover, and your Queen’s suitor of her subterfuge.” The god’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as the door to the weaving room was kicked open. “And Eurymachus told the others.”

It felt as if the moment hung in time. Three men stood in the doorway to the chamber, the rising sun caught the outrage on their strong faces. Every one of them was younger than Odysseus, not carved by war and the sea. 

“Oh, great queen,” the oldest of the three spoke, his brown eyes cast away as if ashamed of her. “What have you done?”

“By what right, Amphinomus do you enter this space?” She rose, to put herself between her loom and the three suitors. 

The one who must have been Eurymachus stepped to meet her. He was told, with hair like spun bronze and bright pale eyes. “Lovely Penelope, fairest of all, and yet not fair enough not to _cheat_.” There was something cruel in his smile that twisted Odysseus’s stomach. 

When the last man spoke, there was an edge to his voice that the king had heard in some soldiers. The ones who walked from the battlefield blood-crazed, full of fire. They were the ones who would take whatever they thought was due to them. Food, wine, people. More than once he had forced two or more of these men from the bodies of traumatised prisoners, and he shuddered.

“You lying whore,” the man snarled through a black beard, his fists balled at his side. “You have made fools of us all.”

Whatever Odysseus heard in his voice, Penelope heard it too. She raised a hand as if to placate them. 

“Antinous,” she began sweetly. “I have been the fool here. I should be more attentive to my honoured guests. I have been too grieved to think straight and-”

Eurymachus’ hands caught her by surprise, grasping around her slim wrists and wrenching her forward. She cried out as her balance was stolen from her. 

“It is too late for that, sweet Penelope,” Eurymachus smiled at her, he looked like a snake. “Too long we have waited for your hand. We are no longer content with just that.”

Antinous lunged then, looking at if he might strike her. But instead taking a fistful of her thin gown and ripping it from shoulder to waist. Her cry was more one of alarm than pain before she realised how exposed she was. Eurymachus’ face was unchanged as he dragged her from her chamber, Antinous taking her ankles as she began to scream. 

“Amphinomus! Amphinomus, please. You were ever kind, please do not let them do this.”

His sad eyes raked down her semi-naked form, her breasts spilling from the tatters of her dress and he looked away.

“Coward,” Odysseus spat, his own body pulling against the god’s bonds as if somehow he could reach through the wall of glass and water to choke the life from every last one of them. 

Somewhere behind him, Poseidon laughed as Penelope was dragged screaming through their palace. The other men in _her_ home, laughing and baying as she was finally brought down to their level. Some began to follow the three men, some scuffling and fighting over ‘who would get their turn’ and with a drop to his stomach, the king realised where they were going. 

Their bedchamber filled his vision, the great bed that could have fit three comfortably and more uncomfortably, the tree that formed the headboard rising all around it. 

With practised ease, the suitors raised Penelope’s slim frame up and onto her marriage bed, the bed where her son was conceived. She was a tangle of limbs already, lashing out as anybody she could reach. 

Antinous was on her first, easily the tallest and strongest he could pin her body with his legs and one hand as the other made short work of the rest of her dress, a tanned hand rising up to painfully cup her exposed skin. The wildness in his eyes twisted his undoubtedly handsome features into something more feral. 

It wasn’t until Eurymachus returned to the scene that he finally moved. Undoubtedly the leader of this sordid band, the charismatic suitor had stripped himself nude, his golden skin seeming almost to glow in the light of the dawn. Prowling forward, he nodded to Antinous who continued to hold her arms back, while leaving her legs to him. 

“Don’t you dare come closer, Eurymachus,” Penelope threatened him with a low voice, but she knew there was nothing to be done. Her eyes darted back to the cowardly Amphinomus, she had trusted him to treat her honourably. And he had failed her. 

Raising one knee to the bed, Eurymachus smiled warmly at her. He had his length in hand, already swollen from her screams and the flush that ran from her cheeks to her stomach from the effort of her fight. 

“Worry no longer Penelope. Today you will choose your new husband, your king. And to honour _my queen’s_ decision, I make a gift to all my fellow suitors. They will all get their turn.”

Grasping her legs with long cruel fingers, he forced them apart. As her voice turned from threats to pleas, he dragged himself closer to her. 

“I will not watch this,” Odysseus ground his teeth, jaw held tightly by the vengeful god. 

“You cannot make me watch this.”

Poseidon said nothing.

Eurymachus, once comfortably planted between the queen’s thighs, looked down at her tanned body, one hand sliding up to touch her where he had no right to. 

“Tch, not enjoying our wedding morning, Penelope? That’s alright. I know you are not a maiden, I will not judge you for any man you lie with before or after me.”

At his elbow appeared a young woman, plainly dressed and carrying a clay pitcher. 

“Melantho?” Penelope breathed. “Melantho please help me. You were ever faithful, please don’t let them do this.”

Eurymachus took the jar from her and she took a kiss in return, paying no attention to the splayed body of her former mistress. 

“She’s lovely isn’t she,” Eurymachus said as the maid made her way through the hungry suitors. “She’s been so helpful in finding my way through this armour, my queen. Even now,” he cracked the seal on the jar and handed it off to a waiting Amphinomus. His fingers were coated in slick, bright oil. “This was her idea too, she knew how frigid you’d be. Tell me, did the dead king ever need a little help to take what was his?”

He wrapped a confident hand around himself, the sound of slick flesh reaching Odysseus’s ears no matter the fathoms between them. The very-much-alive king wanted to look away, to shut his eyes. But the unfolding horror was too sickening to look away from. 

When finally satisfied, Eurymachus spread his oiled fingers over Penelope’s thighs until they glistened then parted her with his thumbs. 

“You do not have to thank me, wife. For my thoughtfulness, you will be slick enough to take Antinous when I am done,” before he slid inside her, slowly but surely. 

She did not give him the prize of any more of her screams, despite how her legs continually tried to force him out of her. Confident that one hand would hold her, Antinous reached down to grasp her breasts with barely contained desire. Others had entered now, those who had not conspired with the first three, but who knew they would get what was due to them. 

Many of them were already stroking themselves in time with Eurymachus’ languid thrusts as if they could imagine taking his place already. How many of these men were there? All stood by, watching with glee as the queen was violated in front of them. 

Odysseus watched her lovely face, and he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he whispered. 

“Please, I don’t want to see this.”

Poseidon said nothing. 

Ever the one in control, Eurymachus threw his head back and finally moaned his pleasure to the room, plunging deeper inside Penelope’s trembling frame and staying there. He bent almost double over her, covering her with his body as Antinous moved away to shed as many clothes as possible. 

Some of the others laughed or even clapped as if their leader had won some contest or sports game. Amphinomus looked very pale as Eurymachus finally pulled out. With a cheer, the others welcomed him like a hero. Like Odysseus had been welcomed in his own camp by his fellows.

Penelope wasn’t Troy, but perhaps they had been besieging her as long. This is what men do when you hold them back long enough.

Antinous scrambled up and onto the bed as she tried to roll away. 

“None of that, whore. You will take every gift we have brought for you, and you will thank us.”

His confidence buoyed by Eurymachus’ success, he drove into her body, forcing himself right up to the hilt. 

At that she screamed again, her voice raw from her cries of earlier, hands rising to push him back. 

Odysseus struggled once more against Poseidon’s hands. Perhaps if he could just find his way out of the god’s grasp he could get home in time. He would kill them all.

Antinous held himself inside her body, seeming to revel in her struggles and the tight wetness left by his leader. 

“Shut up whore and enjoy this. I cannot stand a screaming, ungrateful bitch.” He slapped her grasping fingers away from his chest before she could claw at him before he shouted over his shoulder. “Someone come and claim the whore’s mouth. She could do with a lesson in silence.”

Many suitors crowed at Penelope’s suddenly stricken face, and many more leapt forward at the chance. But it was Amphinomus who took the spot by the bed, still looking as if he were going to his death. 

“Sweet Penelope, I beg you,” he murmured to her. “This will not be forever. I will be gentle and then they cannot hurt you again.” The queen turned away from him as if his betrayal had sickened her worst of all. Antinous pulled out of her slowly, before slamming his full-thickness back in, his legs slapping painfully against hers. She screamed again at the intrusion. 

“Amphinomus,” he growled, tension in his voice. “Either silence her or let any of the others have their turn.”

“Poseidon,” Odysseus’s voice shook now. “What would you have of me to be at home? What sacrifice? To take my eye in recompense of the son I blinded? The greatest temple, built right on the sands I once ploughed? Would you have me _beg you_?” He felt panic rise in his chest as the man approached the bed, reaching a hand to thread through her hair tenderly as he prepared to violate her mouth. 

“In the name of all the gods, Poseidon!” Odysseus almost lost himself to a scream, the god wasn’t even listening to him. He couldn’t be. He had trapped him in fist like rocks to watch this moment forever. “I beg you, let me return to Ithaca. Let me save her any more of this. I will give you what you ask for, please don’t do this.”

When Penelope would not part her lips, Antinous gripped her knees and dragged her down against him so that Amphinomus’ hand wrenched her neck back much rougher than he had intended to. Almost lovingly, Amphinomus stroked a thumb down her cheek. 

"Can you blame us, when you look so beautiful Penelope." Bending forward, he pressed his lips to hers. She twisted against him but was once again winded by another of Antinous' powerful thrusts. The kiss went on for a beat longer, the older man smiling sadly as if that was all he wanted from her, rising to appease the others. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he pressed his purpling cock against her quivering lips. 

Many suitors watched on with lust and envy in equal measure. Where Amphinomus was gentle and tender, Antinous was rough and brutal. He bent the queen’s body that he could drive deep inside her, setting a merciless pace of thrusts that showed the strength of his thighs as much as his sexual stamina. All while Amphinomus stroked the tears from Penelope’s cheek, thrusting scant inches into her willing mouth. 

“I’m sorry, my queen,” he whispered again, raising a shameful hand to cover his own mouth as he pushed in another experimental inch. It was if, more than the others, it was how disgusted he was in himself that was spurring him towards his climax as much as the feeling of her tight wet mouth. 

With a sudden roar, Antinous nearly split the queen in two and her pained scream cut right to Amphinomus’ core. Biting deep into the flesh of his hand, he apologised again, before coming deep enough in her mouth to choke her. Pulling away, his hand shaking, two more men took his space at the head of the bed. One ready to give Penelope no quarter, he tangled a hand behind her head and took her mouth the way the others had fucked her elsewhere. The second man dropped to his knees to revel in the swell and bounce of her exposed breasts, he gripped them in greedy hands and bit down into the soft skin.

At her shaking legs, two more suitors appeared, one taking up the ruinous pace Antinous set, the other sitting beside them both to suckle at her swollen body wherever she had been made sensitive with ill-use. He didn’t seem to care whether he tasted her or the man brutalising her and the others moaned, watching him work. 

It wasn’t until Eurymachus returned, wrapped in a light robe, the sunlight dancing in his bronze hair, that Odysseus began to plead once more with the god who held him captive. 

Taking up the jar of oil in his clever hands, Eurymachus nudged one man to the side that his hand could slide even lower. This earned a frightened squeal from Penelope and an approving noise from the others. 

“Would you like that my queen?” he asked with a sneer. “If your king took you here like you were a sweet-faced young hoplite taken under our wing?” Swirling his fingers through the golden oil, he began to probe at her virgin hole, her cries stifled by the latest suitor to occupy her mouth. “There are young soldiers who do this for the armies, you know? Do you imagine your dead husband didn’t have his fill of young men while at war? How many men have had your son while he’s been at sea?”

As if they were part of some awful dance, the men around her worked together to force the queen up onto her knees bent over. Tears streamed down Penelope’s cheeks as she kept her fists balled at her side. One man lying beneath her so the weight of her body speared herself onto him, another standing over her to continue to fuck her face, both hands in her hair. All while Eurymachus opened her up with the jar of oil, paying no heed to her cries and occasional frantic hands. 

Even Odysseus could see how much the fight had gone out of her. How the weight of so much betrayal had crushed her. 

“Poseidon if you can hear me,” the king howled into the dripping void around him. “If you can hear me, name your price. Name it I beg of you, please _please!_ ” 

Eurymachus once again passed off the jar, Melantho sitting on the edge of the bed to watch her lover rape her queen. She held the oil like an offering so he would never be without as he rubbed his cock against Penelope from behind.

“ _Poseidon!_ ” Odysseus felt his heart might burst as he fought against the restraints. “Poseidon you bastard, I know you are there. Name your price, I am sorry. I will apologise before all of Olympus for the hurt I did you. Prostrate myself before Hera for my failures as a husband, just please stop this. Stop this.”

It wasn’t until Eurymachus had driven up and into Penelope’s body, in slow determined increments, kneeling as one of two men sharing her lap, two more vying for the attention of her mouth - that the god returned to Odysseus’s side. 

“Do not cry, King of Ithaca. For I promise that come nightfall your ship shall see Ithaca again. No more tricks, no more punishment.”

With a rush of air and the collapse of sand all around him, the distraught king returned to his cabin. Tears staining his face. Poseidon’s voice continued to echo in his skull. 

“There is nothing more I can punish you with. Now go home Odysseus, and see your lovely queen.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is in response to RobberBaroness's NCathon request. I'm just so thrilled that someone else has such a love of mythology and it's potential for emotional storytelling.


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